


Foxes and Hounds

by Ariel_Tempest



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Hunting, It Got Better, Snark, meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Tempest/pseuds/Ariel_Tempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1910 a junior footman named Thomas Barrow and a young lady named Mary Crawley met.</p><p>One day they would look back at the moment and laugh.</p><p>....that day would be in 1926.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foxes and Hounds

"Right then, keep that tray steady," Mr. Carson barked as Thomas stepped out the door of Downton Abbey, trying not to squint as the summer sun hit him in the eyes.

Somehow, serving wine for the riders in a fox hunt on his first day felt like baptism by fire, but that was mainly because it was so busy. There were horses milling around and dogs, one of which immediately tried to jump up on him, and riders shouting to each other. Fortunately Thomas had always been quick on his feet, with a steady hand, so he managed to dodge through the throng with the grace of a dancer and without getting paw prints on his livery.

He'd gotten the distinct impression that Mr. Carson would not approve of paw prints, especially since it had rained the night before (not that you could tell it by today's weather), and some of the dogs had apparently found puddles. He decided he much preferred the old Labrador who had greeted him when he'd come for his interview. Pharaoh, he thought he'd heard Lord Grantham call him. He was much less energetic than the hunting hounds, although that might be due to age, one never knew.

As he approached one horse, he was surprised to realize that the rider was, in fact, female. She was riding side saddle, with her skirts on the other side of the horse from him, and of course her hair was up under her hat, so he hadn't noticed on his approach, but she was wearing a fashionable veil and while not exactly voluptuous was definitely more shapely than the rest of the riders. She was about his age, perhaps a bit younger, and surveyed the chaos with a judicious eye that seemed to find fault with everything she saw. At the very least it didn't seem to impress her much.

Thomas had yet to be introduced to the family, with the exception of Lord Grantham, so he could only guess that this was one of his Lordship's daughters. If nothing else she was riding, which meant she out ranked him. Armed with that knowledge, he stepped up to her horse, offering her the cup of wine and his sweetest smile. "A drink, m'lady?"

She looked down at him, almost surprised, and he briefly wondered if he had done something wrong. Of course, if he had it was Mr. Carson's fault. He was just following instructions. "Yes, thank you," she replied primly, taking the cup and drinking. She eyed him as she returned it and asked, "You're the new junior footman, aren't you? What's your name?"

"Thomas, m'lady," he replied promptly with a crisp little bow.

"I see," she replied, looking him over again. "Well, Thomas, fix your hair, will you?"

Thomas blinked. Despite his determination to do well, his smile stiffened and while his tone stayed polite, there was a decidedly incredulous edge to it as he asked, "Excuse me, m'lady?"

"You heard me," she repeated, turning her horse away from him. She then called back over her shoulder, "And don't address me in that tone of voice, or I shall report you to Carson." Clicking to her horse, she rode off, leaving him utterly indignant behind her.

Really, who did that stuck up, boyish little chit think she was?

 

***

 

Thomas stood in the doorway, watching Andrew weave his way through the hounds. There was another bottle of wine ready to be poured should the first run out before the hunters left, and Mrs. Patmore had the midday meal well in hand for when they returned. Most of the hunters would be staying for dinner.

Voices behind him alerted him to the family's presence and he stepped smartly aside as Lord Grantham walked past in his riding gear, Lady Grantham on his arm. Lady Mary followed them, but stopped in the doorway.

Thomas gave her a polite smile. "Sad not to be riding, m'lady?"

"A little, but not overly much, thank you, Barrow," she smiled back. "After all, it's quite out of the question in my present shape." She indicated the convex curve of her belly.

"Of course, m'lady. Only I know how much you like hunting."

Mary made an affirmative noise and sat looking out over the collected chaos of hounds and horses. Although she wouldn't be allowed to go with the others, Tiaa bounded about among the hounds, barking with the exuberance only a puppy can show. Lord Grantham stopped and rubbed her ears, encouraging her to stand on her hind legs, give him her front paws, and lick his face. If anyone saw this as beneath his dignity, no one said anything.

"Weren't we hunting the day you first came here?" Mary asked, her voice distracted, forehead puckering slightly as she tried to remember.

"You were, m'lady," Thomas affirmed with one of his proper smiles.

"I hadn't thought of that in ages. I'd almost forgotten."

Not taking his eyes from the hunt, in case he was needed, his smile turning somewhat rueful, Thomas replied, "I have not, m'lady. I actually remember it quite well."

Mary looked askance at him. "Oh dear, that tone doesn't bode well. What am I not remembering?"

He turned his full attention on her. The hunt could take care of itself for a few minutes, and Andy would fetch him if more wine was needed. In his politest, driest tone, he jogged the woman's memory. "When we first met, I gave you the wine cup, as was proper, and you returned it with sharp order to fix my hair."

"I did?" Mary blinked a couple of times, her expression shifting to bemusement. "I don't remember that at all."

"Mm, you did," Thomas assured her, turning his eyes back to Andy. After a pause, he added, "I never did figure out what was wrong with it. My hair, that is."

Frowning, Mary was silent for a long stretch, watching him as if she could find answers in the shape of his profile. Finally she said, "I think it was the colour."

It was Thomas's turn to look askance at her. "The colour, m'lady?"

"Yes, the colour," Mary nodded decisively, her lips turning up in a playful sphinx smile. "If you remember, the rest of the footmen had blond hair. Yours didn't match."

"Oh, well," Thomas's mouth settled into another of those polite smiles, although this one held an almost baffled air, as if uncertain whether to laugh or be offended. "Heaven forbid the footmen not match."

"Indeed! Capital offense," Lady Mary laughed lightly at him. "Of course, I'm quite glad you didn't try to lighten it. If I'd been thinking I'd have realized it would look horrible. My only excuse was that I was a silly girl of twenty." She paused, then added, "Golly, I'm surprised after that you didn't quit."

"I honestly thought about it. If Carson hadn't kept us busy, I probably would have been packed by the time the hunt made it back."

"I'm glad you didn't," Mary replied, her tone and expression fond. "But what changed your mind?"

Thomas paused, then very deliberately turned away from her and wouldn't meet her eye. "Oh, you know, m'lady. Had time to think about it, to cool off. Realized that common sense said I shouldn't quit here before I had another job lined up." His tone was all reasonable innocence, but there was a thin chord of laughter running just under the surface.

Lady Mary arched an eyebrow, the motion sharply calling his honesty into question. After all, when he'd first come to Downton, 'common sense' was not something Thomas Barrow had been known for, and she was not one to miss the laughter.

Thomas threw her a quick, sideways glance. Upon seeing the eyebrow, he tried again. While his expression remained neutral, the mirth threatened to break through his tone. "I felt that God wanted me to stay at Downton?"

The question in the eyebrow got exponentially sharper.

Finally unable to keep up his famous poker face, Thomas smirked like a canary fed cat.

 

***

 

"Here they come," Mr. Carson walked down the line of footmen like a Sargent. "Randall, straighten your tie. David, remember not to fidget. Yes, I know, you don't like the horses, but that's not an excuse. If you can't handle it, feel free to find new employment. Thomas, very good."  
  
Despite his determination to leave as soon as he could get his bags together, Thomas was perversely glad that the older man hadn't told him to fix his hair.  
  
Lady Grantham and her two younger daughters stepped out into the drive, ready to welcome the returning hunters. Thomas wasn't certain which sight was more grand: the three ladies in their finery and the servants standing in their military straight line, or the mob of horses and hounds making their way back toward the drive.  
  
As tired as the horses and hounds were, the ladies and footmen probably won.  
  
As the hunt arrived, however, and the footmen started once more moving between the horses with their trays and cups, Thomas found a sight that trumped them all. A single horse moved to the front of pack, it's rider swinging rather stiffly from the saddle.  
  
"Lady Mary!" Carson gasped in horror.  
  
Lady Grantham rushed forward. "My darling, are you alright?"  
  
Lady Mary – the self same lady who had early criticized his hair – rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'm perfectly alright, Mama. Diamond just decided to go right when I wanted him to go left."  
  
She did not look perfectly alright. As a matter of fact, she looked perfectly dreadful. Her skirts were torn, her hair a mess. Her hat had apparently come off and been set back on rather haphazardly. Whichever 'right' the horse had chosen to take had clearly been over the creek, or at least a good sized mud puddle, because Mary's thin frame was covered head to toe in mud.  
  
Thomas stared for two seconds, then, with the hasty – and really fairly feeble, if he thought about it – excuse of needing more wine hurried back inside the house. He ducked through the nearest door, shut it behind him, and dissolved into laughter.  
  
Perhaps it would be worth staying after all. If nothing else, he would have to sneak that horse a carrot.


End file.
